Steinmetz was a man of regular habits, I found--from his first-floor in
the street off the Champs Elysees, every morning at eleven, to the
Bourse; thence to his bureau hard by till four; from his bureau to his
cafe, where he read papers and played dominoes till six; and then home
slowly by the Boulevarts. He might consider himself tolerably safe from
me while he led this sort of life, even supposing he was aware he was
incurring any danger. I don't think he troubled much about that; till
one night, when, over the count of the beloved domino-points, his eyes
met mine fixed right upon him. I had arranged this little surprise to
see how it would affect him.
"Perhaps my gaze may have expressed something more than the mere
distraction I intended; but I noticed--though a more indifferent
observer might easily have failed to notice--how the great yellow face,
expanded in childish interest in the childish game, seemed suddenly to
grow gray and harden; how the fat smile became a cruel baring of sharp
white teeth; how the fat chin squared itself. The man knew me, and
scented danger.
"A moment's reflection convinced Monsieur Steinmetz, though, that it
could be by no means so certain that I knew him; five minutes'
observation of me more than half satisfied him that I did not. Yet what
did I want there? What was I doing in Paris? This might concern him
nearly, he must have thought.
"I kept my own face in order, and watched his. It wasn't an easy one to
read; but you see I had studied it closely, and in a way he couldn't
have dreamed of. Monsieur Steinmetz was outwardly his wonted self, but
inwardly not quite comfortable when he rose; and I saw the evil eye
gleam on his great yellow finger as he took out his purse to pay the
_garcon_, just as I had seen it when that finger pointed at _myself_ in
my dream. I felt curious sensations, Bertie, as I sat there and looked
abstractedly at Monsieur Steinmetz. I wondered how long it would be
before----But my time hadn't come yet. He went out without another
glance at me. I saw his huge form on the other side of the street when I
left the cafe in my turn. This I had expected. Monsieur Steinmetz was
naturally curious. It was hardly possible that I could know him; but it
was quite certain that he ought to know all about me. So, when I moved
on, he moved on; in short, Monsieur Steinmetz dogged me up one street
and down another, till he finally dogged me home to my hiding-place in
the Pays Latin. He did it very well, too--much better than you would
have expected from so apparently unwieldy a _mouchard_. But I
_remembered_ how lightly he could move.
"Next day I had, of course, disappeared from my old quarters, and gone
no one knew where. I suppose Monsieur Steinmetz didn't like this fact
when he heard of it. It might have seemed suspicious. Suppose I _had_
recognized him? In that case I had evidently a little game of my own,
and was as evidently desirous to keep it dark. He was a cool hand; but I
fancy my man began to get a little uneasy. He took some trouble to find
me again. After a while I permitted him to do that. Once found, he
seemed determined that I should not be lost sight of again for want of
watching. I permitted that, too; it helped play my game, and I wanted to
bring it to an end. To which intent, Monsieur Steinmetz got to hear from
sources best known to himself as much of my plans as should bring him to
the state I wanted. That was a murderous state. I wanted to get him to
think that I was dangerous enough to be worth putting out of the way. I
presume he was aware there were, or would be, weak joints in his armor,
impenetrable as it seemed; and he preferred not risking the ordeal of
legal battle if he could help it. At all events, he elected at last to
rid himself of a person who might be dangerous, and was troublesome, by
the shortest and the simplest means.
"I say so because when, believing my man was ripe for this, I left Paris
about midday for a certain secluded little spot on the sea-coast, I saw
one of Monsieur Steinmetz's employees on the platform; and because,
two days after my arrival in my secluded spot, I met Monsieur Steinmetz
in person, newly arrived also. Now this was exactly what I had intended
and anticipated. Monsieur Steinmetz had come down there to put me out of
his way, if he could. He passed me, leisurely strolling in the opposite
direction, humming his favorite _aria_, bigger and yellower than ever,
the evil eye fiery on his finger. His own eyes shot me as evil fire; but
he said nothing.... I saw he was ripe, though.... My time was close at
hand.
"It came. Monsieur Steinmetz and I met once more in the very place where
I, knowing my ground, had intended we should meet. It was a dip in the
cliffs like a hollowed palm, and just there the cliff jutted out a good
bit, with a sheer fall on to the rocks below. It was a gray afternoon,
at the end of summer. The wind was rising fast; there was a thunder of
heavy waves already.
"I think he had been dogging me; but I hadn't chosen to let him get up
to me till now. We were quite out of sight when he had reached the level
bottom of the dip, where I had halted--quite out of sight, and quite
alone. To do him justice, he came on steadily enough. His face was liker
the sketch I had made of it, liker the face I had seen in my dream, than
it had ever looked before. Evidently he had made up his mind.... At
last, then!... Well, I had been waiting long!... He was close beside me.
"'_Ah! bon jour, cher Monsieur Steinmetz._'
"'So?' he said, his little eyes contracting like a cobra's. 'Ah!
Monsieur knows my name?'
"'Among other things about you--yes.'
"'So!' The yellow face was turning grayer and harder every minute--liker
and liker to my likeness of it. 'And what other things? Has it never
appeared to you that this you do, have been doing--this meddling, may be
dangerous, _hein_?'
"He had changed his tone, as he had changed the person in which he
addressed me. Yes, he had certainly made up his mind. And his big right
hand was hidden inside his waistcoat, so that I could not see the evil
eye I knew was on his finger.
"'Dangerous?' he repeated slowly.
"'Possibly.'
"'Ay, surely; I shall crush you!'
"'Try.'
"'In good time; wait. You plot against me. Take care; I am strong; I
warn you. There must be an end of this, you understand, or----'
"He nodded his big head significantly.
"'You are right,' I told him; 'there must be an end. It is coming.'
"'So?'
"'Yes; I know you. You know me now.'
"'I know you. What do you want?'
"'To kill you.'
"'So?'
"'Yes; as you killed her.'
"'As I killed her? That is it, then? You know that?'
"'I know that.'
"'Well, it is true. I killed her. Now you can guess what I am going to
do to you--to you, curse you!--whom she loved.'
[Illustration: "THE GREAT YELLOW FACE LOOKED SILENTLY UP AT ME; AND
THEN--THEN IT DISAPPEARED."]
"The very face I had seen in my dream now, Bertie, the very face! There
was something besides the evil eye that gleamed in his right hand when
he drew it from his breast. Once more he spoke.
"'Yes, I killed her. I meant worse for you. You escaped that; but you
will not escape me now. Fool! were you mad to do this? Did not I hate
you enough? And I would have let you be. Ah, die, then, if you will have
it so!'
"His heavy right arm swung high as he spoke, and I saw the sharp steel
gleam as it turned to fall. And I twisted from his grip, and caught the
falling arm, and bent it till the dagger dropped to the ground. And
then, for a fierce, desperate, devilish minute, I had him in my clutch,
dragging him nearer the smooth, slippery edge. He was no match for me at
this I knew, and he knew; but he held me with the hold of his despair,
and I could not loose myself. Both of us together, he meant; but not I.
Yet I only freed myself just as he rolled exhausted, but clutching at
the tough, short bushes wildly, toward the brink, and partly over it....
Only the hold of his hands between him and his death. And I knelt above
him, with the knife in my hand that was stained with _her_ blood.
"The great yellow face, ashen now in its mortal agony, looked silently
up at me--for three or four awful seconds; and then--then it
disappeared.
"Bah!" Paul concluded, "that was the end of it."
CATHERINE'S QUEST.
Imagine to yourself an old, rambling, red-brick house, with odd corners
and gables here and there, all bound and clasped together with ivy, and
you have Craymoor Grange. It was built long before Queen Elizabeth's
time, and that illustrious monarch is said to have slept in it in one of
her royal progresses--as where has she not slept?
There still remain some remnants of bygone ages, although it has been
much modernized and added to in later days. Among these are the
brewhouse and laundry--formerly, it is said, dining-hall and ball-room.
The latter of these is chiefly remarkable for an immense arched window,
such as you see in churches, with five lights.
When we came to the Grange this window had been partially blocked up,
and in front of it, up to one-third of its height, was a wooden dais, or
platform, on which stood a cumbrous mangle, left there, I suppose, by
the last tenants of the house.
Of these last tenants we knew very little, for it was so long since it
had been inhabited that the oldest authority in the village could not
remember it.
There were, however, some half-defaced monuments in the village church
of Craymoor, bearing the figures and escutcheons of knights and dames of
"the old family," as the villagers said; but the inscriptions were worn
and almost illegible, and for some time we none of us took the pains to
decipher them.
We first came to Craymoor Grange in the summer of 1849, my husband
having discovered the place in one of his rambles, and taken a fancy to
it. At first I certainly thought we could never make it our home, it was
so dilapidated and tumble-down; but by the time winter came on we had
had several repairs done and alterations made, and the rooms really
became quite presentable.
As our family was small we confined ourselves chiefly to the newest part
of the house, leaving the older rooms to the mice, dust, and darkness.
We made use of two of the old rooms, however, one as a servants' bedroom
and the other as an extra spare chamber, in case of many visitors. For
myself, though I hope I am neither nervous nor superstitious, I confess
that I would rather sleep in "our wing," as we called the part of the
house we inhabited, than in any of the old rooms.
When Catherine l'Estrange came to us, however, during our first
Christmas at Craymoor, I found that she was troubled with no such
fancies, but declared that she delighted in queer old rooms, with
raftered ceilings and deep window-seats, such as ours, and begged to be
allowed to occupy the spare chamber. This I readily acceded to, as we
had several visitors, and needed all the available rooms.
As my story has principally to do with Catherine l'Estrange, I suppose I
ought to speak more fully about her. She was an old school-friend of my
daughter Ella, and at the time of which I am speaking was just
one-and-twenty, and the merriest girl I ever knew. She had stayed with
us once or twice before we came to the Grange, but we then knew no other
particulars concerning her family, than that her father had been an
Indian officer, and that he and her mother had both died in India when
she was about six years old, leaving her to the care of an aunt living
in England.
I now, after a long, and I fear a tedious, preamble, come to my story.
On the eve of the new year of 1850, Catherine had a very bad sore
throat, and was obliged, though sorely against her inclination, to stay
in bed all day, and forego our small evening gayety.
At about 6 o'clock P.M., Ella took her some tea, and fearing she would
be dull, offered to stay with her during the evening. This, however,
Catherine would not hear of. "You go and entertain your company," said
she laughingly, "and leave me to my own devices; I feel very lazy, and I
dare say I shall go to sleep." As she had not slept much on the
preceding night, Ella thought it was the best thing she could do; so she
went out by the door leading on to the corridor, first placing the
night-lamp on a table behind the door opening on to the laundry, so that
it might not shine in her face.
She did not again visit Catherine's room until reminded to do so by my
son George, at about half-past ten. She then rapped at the door, and
receiving no answer, opened it softly, and approached the bed. Catherine
lay quite still, and Ella imagined her to be asleep. She therefore
returned to the drawing-room without disturbing her.
As it was New Year's eve, we stayed up "to see the old year out and the
new year in," and at a few minutes to twelve we all gathered round the
open window on the stairs to hear the chimes ring out from the village
church.
We were all listening breathlessly as the hall-clock struck twelve, when
a piercing cry suddenly echoed through the house, causing us all to
start in alarm. I knew that it could only proceed from Catherine's room,
for the servants were all assembled at the window beneath us, listening,
like ourselves, for the chimes. Thither therefore I flew, followed by
Ella, and we found poor Catherine in a truly pitiable state.
She was deadly pale, in an agony of terror, and the perspiration stood
in large drops upon her forehead. It was some time before we could
succeed at all in composing her, and her first words were to implore us
to take her into another room.
She was too weak to stand, so we wrapped her in blankets, and carried
her into Ella's bedroom. I noticed that as she was taken through the
laundry she shuddered, and put her hands before her eyes. When she was
laid on Ella's bed she grew calmer, and apologized for the trouble she
had caused, saying that she had had a dreadful dream.
With this explanation we were fain to be content, though I thought it
hardly accounted for her excessive terror. I had observed, however, that
any allusion to what had passed caused her to tremble and turn pale
again, and I thought it best to refrain from exciting her further.
When morning came I found Catherine almost her usual self again; but I
persuaded her to remain in bed until the evening, as her cold was not
much better. Ella's curiosity to hear the dream which had so much
excited her friend could now no longer be restrained; but whenever she
asked to hear it, Catherine said, "Not now; another time, perhaps, I may
tell you."
When she came down to dinner in the evening, we noticed that she was
peculiarly silent, and we endeavored to rally her into her usual
spirits, but in vain. She tried to laugh and to appear merry, poor
child; but there was evidently something on her mind.
At last, as we all sat round the fire after dinner, she spoke. She
addressed herself to my husband, but the tone of her voice caused us all
to listen.
"Mr. Fanshawe, I have something to ask of you," said she, and then
paused.
"Ask on," said Mr. Fanshawe.
"I know that you will think the request I am going to make a peculiar
one; but I have a particular reason for making it," continued she. "It
is that you will have the wooden dais in front of the laundry window
removed."
Mr. Fanshawe certainly was taken aback, as were we all. When he had
mastered his bewilderment, and assured himself that he had heard
aright--
"It is, indeed, a strange request, my dear Catherine," said he; "what
can be your reason for asking such a thing?"
"If you will only have it done, and not question me, you will understand
my reason," answered Catherine.
Mr. Fanshawe demurred, however, thinking it some foolish whim, and at
last Catherine said:
"I must tell you why I wish it done, then: I am sure we shall discover
something underneath."
At this we all looked at one another in extreme bewilderment.
"Discover something underneath? No doubt we should--cobwebs, probably,
and dust and spiders," answered Mr. Fanshawe, much amused.
But Catherine was not to be laughed down.
"Only do as I wish," said she beseechingly, "and you will see. If you
find nothing underneath the dais but cobwebs and dust, then you may
laugh at me as much as you like." And I saw that she was serious, for
tears were actually gathering in her eyes. Of course we were all very
anxious to know what Catherine expected to find, and how she came to
suspect that there was anything to be found; but she would not say, and
begged us all not to question her.
And now George took upon himself to interfere.
"Let us do as Catherine wishes, father," said he; "the dais spoils the
laundry, and would be much better away."
"Well, well," said Mr. Fanshawe, "do as you like, only I shall expect my
share of the treasure that is found.--And now," added he, "you must have
a glass of wine to warm you, Catherine, for you look sadly pale, child."
Here the conversation changed, though we often alluded to the subject
again during the evening.
The next morning the first thing in all our thoughts was Catherine's
singular request.
I think Mr. Fanshawe had hoped she would have forgotten it, but such
was not the case; on the contrary, she enlisted George's services the
first thing after breakfast to carry out her design, and they left the
room together, accompanied by Ella.
It was a snowy morning, and Mr. Fanshawe was obliged to be away from
home all day on business, so I was quite at a loss how to entertain my
numerous guests successfully. Happily for me, however, the mystery
attendant on the removal of the dais in the laundry charmed them all;
and I have to thank Catherine for contributing to their amusement much
better than I could possibly have done.
Not long after the disappearance of Catherine, Ella, and George, a
message was sent to us in the drawing-room requesting our presence in
the laundry; and on all flocking there with more or less eagerness, we
found a fire burning on the old-fashioned hearth and chairs arranged
round it.
It appeared that with the help of Sam, our factotum, who was a kind of
Jack-of-all-trades, George had succeeded in loosening the planks of the
dais, which, although strongly put together, were rotten and worm-eaten,
and that we were now summoned to be witnesses of its removal. We found
Catherine trembling with a strange eagerness, and her face quite pale
with excitement. This was shared by Ella and George; and, judging by the
important expression on their faces, I fancied they were let further
into the secret than any one else.
We all sat down in the chairs placed for our accommodation, and the wild
whistling of the wind in the huge chimney, together with the sheets of
snow which darkened the window-panes, enhanced the mystery of the whole
affair, while George and his coadjutor worked lustily on.
At length, after a great deal of panting and puffing, George was heard
to exclaim, "Now for the tug of war!" and there followed a minute's
pause, and then a crash as the loosened planks were torn asunder, and a
cloud of dust enveloped both workmen and spectators.
Involuntarily we all started forward, and a moment of the direst
confusion ensued, during which the boys of our party greatly endangered
their limbs among the broken boards.
"By George!" exclaimed my son at last--in his eagerness invoking his
patron saint--as he stumbled upon something, "there is something here
and no mistake;" and, hastily clearing away the rubbish and clinging
cobwebs, he disclosed to view what proved on examination to be an
immense oaken chest, about four feet in height, heavily carved, and
ornamented with brass mouldings corroded with age and damp.
Here was a piece of excitement indeed; never in my most imaginative
moments had I thought of anything so mysterious as this. The most
sceptical among us grew interested.
"Oh, do open it!" cried Ella, when the first exclamations of surprise
were over.
"Easier to say than to do, miss," replied Sam, exerting his Herculean
strength in vain. With the aid of a hammer and the kitchen-poker,
however, he at last succeeded in forcing it open. We all pressed forward
eagerly to peer inside. There was something in it certainly, but we none
of us could determine what, until Sam, who was the boldest of us all,
thrust in his hand and brought forth--something which caused the bravest
to start with horror, while poor Catherine sank down, white and
trembling, upon the littered floor. It was a bone, to which adhered
fragments of decaying silk.
The consternation and conjectures which followed can be better imagined
than described. Seeing the effects of the discovery upon Catherine, and
indeed upon all, I bade Sam replace it in the chest, which George closed
again, to be left until Mr. Fanshawe came home and could investigate the
matter.
The rest of the day I passed in attending to Catherine, who seemed much
shocked and overcome by what she had seen, and in trying to divert my
guests' thoughts from the subject, and dispel the gloom which had
gathered over all. In this I succeeded only partially, and never did I
welcome my husband's return more gladly than on that evening.
On his arrival I would not let him be disturbed by the relation of what
had happened until he had finished his dinner, and it was not till we
were gathered as usual round the fire that George related the whole
story to him.
When he ended the two gentlemen left the room together, in order that
Mr. Fanshawe might verify by his own eyes what he would hardly believe.
They were some time gone, and on their return I noticed that my husband
held in his hand an old piece of soiled parchment, with mouldy seals
affixed to it.
"We certainly have discovered much more than I thought for, Catherine,"
said he, "and possibly more than you thought for either." Here he paused
for her to reply, but she did not.
"The bones are most probably those of some animal," added he--I fancied
I could detect a certain anxiety in his tone that belied what he said;
"but in order to quell the active imaginations which I can see are
running away with some of you"--here he looked round with a smile--"I
will send for Dr. Driscoll to come and examine them to-morrow. I have
also found a piece of parchment in the chest," he added; "but I have not
yet looked at its contents."
"Before you do that, Mr. Fanshawe, and before you send for the surgeon,"
interrupted Catherine suddenly in a clear voice, "I think I can tell you
all about the bones found in the chest, and how I guessed them to be
there."
"I should certainly be very glad to be told," my husband admitted, much
surprised; "though how you can possibly know, I cannot surmise."
"Listen, and I will tell you," answered Catherine; and feeling very glad
that our curiosity was at last to be gratified, we all "pricked up our
ears," as George would say, to listen.
I here transcribe Catherine's story word for word, as my son George
subsequently wrote it down from her dictation.
* * * * *
"You all remember," she began, "my alarming you on New Year's eve at
midnight, and that I told you I was disturbed by a dreadful dream.
"I said so because I thought you would make fun of me if I called it a
vision; and yet it was much more like a vision, for I seemed to see it
waking, and it was more vivid and consecutive than any dream I ever had.
"Before I try to describe it, I want you all to understand that I seemed
intuitively to comprehend what I saw, and to recognize all the figures
which appeared before me, and their relation to one another, though I am
sure I never beheld them before in my life.
"When Ella left me that night, I lay propped up with pillows, staring
idly at the strange shadows thrown by the hidden lamp across the laundry
ceiling and over the floor. As I looked it seemed to me that a change
came over the room--a most unaccountable change.
"Instead of the blocked-up window, the rusty mangle, and the dais at the
farther end, I saw the window clear and distinct from top to bottom, and
in front of a deep window-seat at its base stood an oaken chest, exactly
corresponding to the one discovered this morning. The room seemed
brilliantly lighted, and everything was clearly and distinctly visible;
and not only was it changed, but also peopled.